


Committed

by This_ape_writes



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks, Spoilers Folie A Deux, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_ape_writes/pseuds/This_ape_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder finds himself living out a longtime fear of being held in a psychiatric hospital. Spoilers for Folie a Deux</p>
            </blockquote>





	Committed

There's a spot, about an inch or so just below his right eye that is going to itch him into complete madness. 

Of course he realizes the irony of that statement seeing as the reason he is unable to scratch said spot is because he is currently Velcro strapped to a bed in a psych ward. 

Still. He's not crazy. Not yet. At least not that he can tell. But this itch may change that. 

No. 

Hang on. 

That's a lie. 

He tries not to think about how the truth is that the itch is actually saving his sanity. The truth is, if he can focus on the itch he can ignore where he is. And god he really wants to completely ignore where he is or he is going to have a meltdown. 

But he doesn't care if the itch is a lifeline to sanity or not, it has to go. He has to scratch it or die trying. 

He scrunches down sideways and manages to torque his shoulder just enough to catch the spot below his eye on the rough fabric of his hospital gown shoulder and he drags his face across it like an overly aggressive cat. It works. The itch disappears and he sighs in a way that could easily be mistaken for an orgasm. And not gonna lie. It feels almost as good. Maybe better.

But then the itching stops and he loses the distraction. He quickly starts to feel that multiple mice clamoring on a wheel in a pet store kind of panic, start to creep into his chest. 

He has to get a grip. 

The only thing worse than being committed is being committed and drugged and that was what they had wanted to do when he'd lost it coming in here. His boss had been his only salvation. Skinner had talked them into these lovely restraints instead of intravenous sedatives, and he was so thankful for that he could have kissed his beautiful bald head to spite the fact that he was the reason for being here in the first place. 

He couldn't really blame Skinner for that though. He had pulled a gun on an unarmed man. He could see how that might appear unstable to someone who didn't know the truth about the unarmed man. And convincing others of that truth was starting to look like a difficult task. 

But whether he could make them see the truth or not makes little difference at this point. It's too late. He's committed. He takes a deep breath and holds it until it burns before letting it out in a tight lipped hiss. He needs to calm down. He can feel his heart contracting and banging against his chest. And he can feel the blood rushing in pulses up his neck. And feels panic breaking free. 

He's been dreading this inevitable day since he was sixteen. Even though there wasn't really any concrete proof that this day was actually going to be inevitable, deep down he knew. It was just the vague threat that toyed with the back of his mind and ate at the center of his stomach. 

He hadn't taken anything stronger than Advil in years but his younger self had been medicated in some shape or form ever since his sisters disappearance. He had just passed his finals junior year when some of those meds got slightly askew. When that happened, he found himself smack dab in the middle of Christmas break in an insomnia fueled rampage. He didn't sleep at all. Not even cat naps. Just hard core, full blown insomnia that tapered off into hallucinations. He'd finally broken down after day four and had been admitted to a regular hospital for exhaustion. That's when 24/7 psychiatric help was first mentioned. 

His father had been the one to intervene then. He remembers being thankful for that at the time. But it was too late. The idea was there. 

He'd been dreading it ever since. He hadn't even gone near a psychiatric hospital just to be safe. 

Well... he hadn't ,that is, until 8 years ago or so. That's when his new partner at the bureau had developed a fascination with the possibility of misdiagnosed psychics being held in these types of hospitals across the country. 

He told her he wasn't comfortable. 

She said he was being dumb. 

She went, so he dragged himself along. 

It's not that it wasn't interesting work, it was. It was fascinating. It's just that he was terrified that every time he set foot inside a new hospital that they weren't going to let him set foot outside of it again. But he kept going. Mostly to look cool for the woman he had just started having sex with. 

No. Wait. Not mostly. That was it. That was the sole reason. 

Even that hadn't been enough to keep him going after awhile. Eventually he got out of the trips with a lame excuse. If he remembers right it was a sob story about his Grandma Pearl who had been institutionalized and ultimately lobotomized, dying a slow and horrible death inside, and how these hospitals were bringing up memories he'd rather not deal with. 

He's still not sure why he felt that was better than the truth. 

Truthfully he didn't even have a Grandma Pearl. He had a Granny Eve but her brain was still fully intact and playing bridge in boca raton Florida when she'd died of heart disease. 

Either way his then partner bought the lie and it didn't even matter. She moved to Europe three weeks later and he was left alone. 

But that brings us back to his living nightmare. 

It's actually happened. He's walked into that hospital that is finally not going to let him back out. And all of that mental preparation was worthless because he is not ready for this. At all. 

His hands are tingling. 

He is starting to sweat. 

He's calculating his odds of escape wondering what physics would allow him to free his arms when a nurse enters the room. 

A woman. Hard to judge age but he guesstimates it to be about mid thirties. Ok now this he could possibly work with. Now he fully understands that he has the reputation of being socially awkward but reality is he just doesn't like most people it's not that he doesn't know how to interact with them. He does that part quite well when he feels like it. Add to that a background in psychology and you have a breeding ground for manipulating people into getting what he wants. He sizes this woman up and then deploys the weapon that has gotten him out of so much over the years. 

His charm. His mother fucking charm that he has perfected into a grin wielding weapon of power. 

He smiles. 

He says hello. 

He puts on his most harmless face. 

He looks down in a way that says awe shucks. 

He asks if these restraints are really necessary? He smiles larger. 

And he fails. 

She checks on his heart rate and makes sure the restraints are nice and tight before telling him they are absolutely necessary. 

His heart responds by kicking him in the chest with just a little more umph. But he doesn't give up. Not yet. 

He chuckles in a way that has actually singlehandedly scored dates in the past but this falls flat too. 

He asks is there anyway to change her mind on that and she shakes her head without even looking at him once. 

Turns out, this nurse could not care less about his weaponized grade charm. 

And that's when he starts to lose it. Hope is dead. He has nothing to lose, so he loses his shit. He's not particularly proud of what happens next but he's not really in control anymore. Panic is in charge now. He is consumed now with the idea that if he doesn't get out of this bed and free that he is legitimately going to die of cardiac arrest. He is pulling at the railings and he is fully aware that he is acting exactly like the crazy person that they think that he is, but he doesn't care. 

For the first time in five years he has a nuclear level panic attack. And it feels awful. He'd forgotten just how awful it could be. 

He's never going to be able to move his arms again. 

He's never going to be able to leave.

The are going to keep him drugged and he is going to lose his ability to think. They're going to take that away from him. They're going to take his mind. His best asset. What makes him him. 

His worst fear is here. He's in it. He's living it out in horrific slow motion. 

And he wants to die. 

He is screaming a profanity laced tirade and flailing. Somewhere in the logic part of his mind that is patiently waiting for him to get his shit together again, he is able to think of her. His current partner. The only one who can get him out of this. He knows he's yelling her name. That's the last thing he can remember before he feels a stinging bite to the inside of his elbow followed by a cold rush of something that feels like concentrated Vic's vaporub driving through his veins. 

And he's out. 

It's dark. 

He is dreaming. 

He doesn't usually dream, or if he does he doesn't remember them. But he's dreaming now and if this is how he usually dreams it is a blessing that he can't remember them because his dreams aren't any better than his reality. 

Panic has followed him down the rabbit hole. 

Something is looming that has no face. He can't quite see it no matter which way he turns but he knows it is trying to suffocate him. He tries running but his feet won't cooperate. He moves like he's in sand up to his waist and he is trying with all his energy to get the hell away. He falls to the ground and he is pulling himself along with his arms but he can't make himself move.

He screams but there's no sound. 

 

But he feels someone take his hand. Someone is trying to help. He turns to see who it is and he wakes himself up in the process. 

To see that his hand is actually being held in the waking world. He follows it up to the exasperated, fully exhausted, and slightly terrified face of his partner and to spite being sedated and mostly incoherent  
he is still able to feel a wave of relief push through him and he smiles. 

He wants to tell her to help. He wants to tell her how terrified he is. He wants to tell her that she's the last hope that he has. 

But he won't. 

Instead he tries to crack a joke. 

"Five years together Scully. You must have seen this coming," he says, ending with a self depreciating laugh. She doesn't laugh back. She just squeezes his hand. And he wants to cry. 

He thinks back to a case they worked just a few years after becoming partners. It was a case that had required them to interview a suspect in, that's right, another mental hospital just like this one. He had cracked a joke back then as well about not wanting to go for fear they wouldn't let him leave. She'd seen right through his bullshit and saw the real fear behind that sentence and she'd nodded and said, 'me too'. She'd gone alone because she knew he couldn't. 

Thinking about her being kind to him and trusting his judgment, and being sensitive to his fear is choking him up. Couple that with the idea that after only being his partner a very short time, way back then, she had already known him better than a woman he had been actually SLEEPING with had, and it's going to make him lose it again. 

So he distracts himself with the case. 

He feels dizzy and the room won't quite stay still but he can just manage to focus enough to talk. 

He asks about the autopsy and he feels sure that he responds appropriately to whatever it is that she says but he doesn't really hear her. 

Something about time of death. 

Something about finding what she expected. 

The only thing he really grasps and hold on to in his mind is when she tells him no. 

When she tells him he's having delusions. 

Until she basically confirms that he is insane. 

No. 

He feels himself shaking his head. 

No. 

If she doesn't believe him...

NO!

So he's not proud of his next move either but he's all out of options. 

So he begs. 

He begs and tells her she has to believe him. She just has to. She's all he's got. The only one left. He needs her to believe him. To spite the suppressing drugs he feels panic trying to come back.

Please believe me, he tells her. 

You have to believe me. Nobody else on this whole damn planet does or ever will. 

You're my one in five billion. 

And as soon as he says it, they both know it's true. 

And he should feel sad at the realization that the only person he has left in his court is basically, when you break it down logically, a glorified coworker. A cube mate. Someone who was assigned to him, but he doesn't. He doesn't feel sad at all. 

He feels stupidly lucky. 

Which is probably more of a sign that he is out of his mind than any of his other actions all day. 

But it makes him smile. He hears her sigh and he hears a squeaking scrape as she pulls a chair close enough to sit down without breaking contact with his hand. 

And then he hears her groan. 

"Dammit Mulder," she says. And he can't help it. It makes him grin harder. She leans forward and her thumbs push at his eyelids as the doctor in her takes over. She leaves her hand against his face when she's done and pushes his hair back as she shakes her head. 

"What did they give you?" She asks. 

"A panic attack," he says honestly. 

Her face says she doesn't want to laugh at that but her smile betrays her true feelings. 

"You know what I meant Mulder," she says. 

"Yeah I know but I can't answer the other question. I was, uh, a bit distracted when they gave it to me." Her smile leaves and ushers in a frown. 

"Distracted?" She asks. 

"Screaming like a crazy person. I fit right in," he says. 

"You're not crazy Mulder," she says, squeezing his hand she is still holding tightly. 

"Yeah, I am," he says. 

"No. You are a lot of things, including stubborn and exasperating but you are not crazy. Not at all."

She makes eye contact with him with the intensity of a staring contest and his throat constricts and sends a stab of pain down either side as he swallows back a crying meltdown. He nods. 

"No. Listen to me. I'm going to say that again. Are you listening?" She asks. Her hand is still against his cheek and she's firm in holding him still so that she can stare into his eyes. That stare. It physically hurts. But he nods and hold her gaze. 

"You, Fox Mulder, are not crazy. I absolutely believe that."

His full name. She means business but he still doesn't know if he can really believe what she's saying. She's telling him what he has wanted to hear ever since he was that overly tired sixteen year old kid all those years ago. She is sincerely telling him the opposite of what the entire world has told him his entire life. This has to be a dream but he knows that it's not. She may not believe him with what's going on in this case but she believes IN him which is so much better. 

Dammit. That's not fair. 

His brain can't compete with that. 

One warm rogue tear breaks free of his tight reign on his emotions, and slides down his face. He feels it go, leaving cold evaporation in its wake. Her hand is still resting against his cheek and she brushes it away with her thumb. 

One damn sentence and she's restored more inside of him than she can even imagine. 

And then just to prove how absolutely amazing that she is, she goes one step further in being his savior. For this she breaks the rules, and standing up she releases his wrists from being imprisoned. She's as quiet as she can be although Velcro is never real subtle, but no one appears to stop her so she keeps going until his arms are free. 

As soon as he can move he feels himself relax. But he doesn't let go of her. He holds on for dear life. He is just so shocked she's done something she shouldn't he can't speak. But she's not done with him yet. 

"However," she sighs, and he flinches. Oh god. Here it comes. The Scolding. "You can sometimes be THE dumbest son of a bitch that I have ever met. So much so that I often question the validity of that oxford diploma you claim to have." 

Wasn't expecting that. That makes him laugh through his nose and he moves his recently freed hand in her grasp just enough to thread his fingers through hers. "Mulder," she whines as she runs her fingers through his hair again. "You pulled a gun on an unarmed man?" He sighs. And he nods and breaks eye contact before it destroys him. 

"You didn't see what I saw Scully," he says. 

"You're right I didn't. But no one else did either." 

Yeah. That was a problem. He had no proof of what he saw but knowing himself as well as he did he knows he would never give in and lie to say that he'd been wrong. He'd stick to his guns to the bitter end and that was going to be his undoing. 

He realizes that he's not going to make it out of here again. He is institutionalized now. This is where his story ends. 

But the strange thing is with her sitting here that idea doesn't fill him with the same level of panic as it did before. Instead it just makes him sad and not even for himself but for her and getting stuck with his stupid ass. Because when he stops to think about it, if she's here he could probably be anywhere and be ok. 

Huh. 

That was not something he was anticipating to discover today when he woke up but as soon as he thinks it he knows it's true. Turns out she's not just his one in five billion chance of believing his bull shit, she his one in five billion human beings that he can't live without. 

Woah. 

That's uh...

Shit. 

That's a bit too much to deal with. 

Not here. 

So he quickly changes the subject. 

"Scully? Do you think that eventually after a year or so in here they might let me have some crayons?" he asks. She arches one of her eyebrows and drops her hand away from his hair and back to his hand she is holding so that she can wrap both of her hands together there, effectively turning their hands into a sandwich. 

"Are we to the point of being able to joke about this already?" She asks. 

"I just think crayons would be nice. I could draw some lovely pictures. And these clothes are pretty comfortable. I could live in these for 40 years or so." 

"Well I'm sorry but I'm not about to leave you in here. I need my partner." He snaps his head over to look at her when she says that. He knows she probably doesn't mean that in the way that he's just been thinking that he needs her. She probably just means work, but it still makes his breathing pick up just the same. 

"Actually," she says. "What I was thinking though was that these restraints wouldn't be too bad to have around the office." 

Ok. 

Maybe she didn't mean work. 

His mind goes dirty and he can feel his face turning pink. Surely she didn't mean that in that kind of a...

"...because that way I can keep you tethered so you don't keep running off on your own and getting yourself into messes like this. Just let me go with you and stuff like this won't happen," she says. 

He laughs. Mostly to distract from his blushing at getting the wrong idea and she shakes her head and bends down to kiss his fingers that she still has tightly wrapped up in both of her hands. 

"Well you might get that wish. I'm not going to go anywhere anytime soon."

"Mulder they won't keep you in here for much longer. I won't let them. You've been admitted for forty eight hours for evaluation, I can't stop that, but after that I am going to get you out of here. You might lose your gun but that wouldn't be the first time. And in the future? Please don't run off without me. This is what happens when you do."

"I'm sorry Scully."

"Don't apologize. Just don't do it." 

He nods. 

They both know that won't happen. 

They sit in silence for a while. With her staring down at his hand and him staring right at her. They don't know how long time passes but it's at least several minutes before they are rudely interrupted by a nurse walking in. The same nurse that is immune to his charm. And charm immune nurse immediately notices he is free. 

"Excuse me," she snaps, "Why is this patient not restrained?" He mutters a curse word under his breath and thinks of making a break for it but his partner straightens her shoulders and holds her ground. 

His partner. 

His beautiful, amazing, bad ass partner turns to the nurse and levels a gaze on her that could destroy someone if they aren't careful. 

"Because I didn't feel that he needed to be restrained," she says.

"And who are you?" The nurse challenges. 

"His doctor," she says and he grins. He watches the nurse as she looks them over, sees Scully holding tightly to his hand and he knows the nurse doesn't believe that for one second. "And I'm also his partner at the FBI." This the lady believes but she rolls her eyes. 

"He's a danger to himself and to other people. Those restraints were there for a reason." 

"Do I look like I'm in any danger to you?" Scully challenges. "Do I? Let me answer that for you. No. I don't. In fact, you've pumped this man so full of god knows what drugs I doubt he can even hold his head up on his own, let alone pose a threat to my well being." Uh oh. Now she's mad. Charm immune nurse doesn't stand a chance. And his grin has grown even wider.

"Listen. I understand you are just doing your job. And I understand that my partner here may have been understandably agitated when he was first admitted and when I leave I will respectfully defer to your protocol and make sure he's tied down nice and tight for the remaining forty three hours you can legally hold him here. But until then I can guarantee you that I am in absolutely no danger from this man and I would appreciate you giving us just a few more minutes alone." The nurse looks at Scully like she would love to wrap her hands around her neck and test its compressive strength but she just smiles and walks out of the door. 

"Great Scully. Now I'm on her naughty list," he says as soon as the nurse is gone. 

"You were already on that list Mulder. And I'm sorry but I just had no patience for that." Scully shifts so that she can lay her head down next to him on the bed and relax but she hasn't let his hand go. He shakes my head. Did he mention what a lucky asshole he is that she has his back? 

He sighs and leans his head back next to hers. 

Forty three hours. He believes her when she says that after that time she's going to get him out. Even if she had to break them out and live on the run like fugitives he knows she'll make it happen.  
He's still living his nightmare here in this hospital but this is the happiest he has been in a very very long time. 

"Thank you Scully," he says using words that are nowhere near the right gravitas to really sum up what he feels for what she's done here today but the english language isn't equipped to handle what he really feels. 

"That's not necessary but you're welcome." 

"Hey Scully. Would you have punched that nurse if it came down to it?" He asks. 

"With pleasure ," she says. 

"God that's so cool," he says. 

"Shut up Mulder," she says.


End file.
